


Even

by thorsodinsn



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Apologies, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorsodinsn/pseuds/thorsodinsn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" 'For Sophia, it was nursery rhymes. Memorized every last one by the time she was four. She could recite them all herself, but she’d still drop the book in my lap every night,' Carol says. 'You still remember them?' Shane asks, glancing up from where he is kneeling on the tiled floor. Carol sighs, chewing at her lip as she rifles through the dusty shelves, moving aside broken rattles and the odds and ends of baby food jars and bottles. 'I do,' she says evenly." || Carol and Shane share a few sweet moments while on a run || Set between S2 and S3 || ShaneLives!AU || Shane/Carol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even

                “Stay close.”

                Carol nods, following Shane out of the car and creeping with him onto the big front porch of the general store. The floorboards creak and moan under their feet. Shane pauses, stretching out his arm to keep Carol behind him. He raps his fist against the door, causing a big cloud of dust to fly up inside and storm in the stale air before finally settling on the floor. They wait with baited breath and, when nothing happens, Shane pushes the door open. The little bell overhead jingles as they step inside.

                Carol’s shoulder brushes Shane as she moves a step ahead of him. He lets his fingers brush over the small of her back as she passes and they nod to one another before finally parting, slipping down separate, nearly-emptied aisles.

                “Pretty well looted,” Carol sighs, rifling through the broken bottles and torn boxes left behind.

                “Ain’t much that isn’t,” Shane replies. Carol hums her agreement. She glances up at the crooked signs marking off the aisles and starts towards the faded one that advertises baby supplies.

                “Have we found any formula yet?” she calls to Shane, who is busy stuffing dented cans of vegetables and soups into his pack.

                “Nothing yet,” he says. “Why, you got some?”

                “I’m looking,” Carol says. She scans the shelves, reaching back as far as she can to see if there’s anything stuffed far into the back. Soon she pokes her head around the endcap. “Hey, Shane.”

                “You okay?” Shane asks, worry in his voice as he rounds the corner to find her. Carol smiles, holding up a battered cardboard book with a little green caterpillar crawling across the cover. A grin splits Shane face.

                “Think Lori will like this?” she asks.

                “Holy shit,” Shane breathes, closing the space between them and taking the book from her hands. He quickly flips through it, huffing a laugh. “You know I got ‘em a copy of this when Carl was born?” He closes the book, tapping the cover soundly before handing it back to Carol. “Take it. She’ll get a kick out of it.”

                Carol laughs, too, and tucks the book into her bag. “You think Carl’ll remember it?”

                “He better,” Shane jokes, turning back down the aisle with her and bending low to check every last shelf. He snatches up a baby bottle, checking it for cracks before slipping into his backpack. “You could read it to him ten times and he’d still be beggin’ for one more.”

                “That’s sweet,” Carol says. “For Sophia, it was nursery rhymes. Memorized every last one by the time she was four. She could recite them all herself, but she’d still drop the book in my lap every night.”

                “You still remember them, don’t you?” Shane asks, glancing up from where he was kneeling on the tiled floor. Carol sighs, chewing at her lip as she rifles through the dusty shelves, moving aside broken rattles and the odds and ends of baby food jars and bottles.

                “I do,” she says evenly. Shane keeps his gaze on her, even though she won’t look at him. He sucks in his breath, watching as she turns over a small, fleece blanket in her hands.

                “Carol,” he says as she folds the blanket up. She stuffs it into her bag then finally looks to Shane, eyes meeting his, not saying a word. “I’m sorry. The barn…Sophia. I truly am sorry.”

                “You don’t have to be,” Carol says, voice quiet. Her fingers light on Shane’s shoulder and she holds his gaze, blue eyes boring into brown. “You were doing what you had to.”

                “I didn’t know,” Shane insists, the same thing he’d told her the day that it happened. She squeezes his shoulder, her thumb digging deep into hard muscle, easing his tension away.

                “You couldn’t have,” Carol says. Her hand falls away and Shane finally stands, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

                “One last sweep, then?” he asks after a moment.

                “I’ll meet you at the door,” she says. They don’t come away with very much, but anything is better than nothing, especially as the weather grows colder and a chill settles in the air. It’s when they’re leaving that they run into a problem—Shane tenses almost the moment he steps outside, one arm out, yet again, to hold Carol safely behind him. She waits, holding her breath, eyes following Shane’s gaze. His jaw is tight. Every muscle is taut.

                “Stay here,” he tells her, stepping off the porch alone. Carol sees why when he hits the last step and a walker’s hands make a quick grab for him. He stumbles backwards, swinging his arm so the butt of his Glock hits the thing in the head. A horrible crunch snaps through the hair, gore splattering Shane’s arm and his shirt as the thing falls, growling and snapping, to the ground. Shane grunts, thrusting the heel of his boot into its head.

                He’s sweeping sweat from his brow when another corpse comes staggering up behind him, dragging its feet in the dirt and reaching out for him. “Shane!” Carol shouts, darting down the steps as he turns around. He moves to aim his gun, sending a round into the dead thing’s head, and then something grabs at his shirt from behind. His heart hammers against his chest and he drives his elbow back, feeling brittle bones snap as he tries to shake the damn thing off him.

                Carol drops her pack, raising her knife as she runs for him. She grabs the corpse by one gaunt shoulder and it roars and rasps in protest, flailing against her grip. Its yellowed teeth snap first near Shane’s neck, then inches from Carol’s face as she pushes it down. Shane topples with them, rolling away as she drives her blade clean through its skull.

                “Fuck,” Shane swears, breath heavy as he fights to catch it.

                “You alright?” Carol asks as she wipes the gore off on her jeans. “Are you hurt?”

                “Fine,” he says. “I’m fine.”

                “Let me see,” she insists, tucking her knife away. She moves in front of him, gentle fingers lighting on his cheeks. “Shane, let me see,” she repeats. He nods his head and her hands start to wander, pulling at his shirt, checking for tears and for blood red enough to be Shane’s one. “Jesus,” she breathes eventually, and in her relief she flings her arms around her neck. He tenses for a moment, shocked by her sudden affection, and then his big arms close around her back.

                “I’m okay,” he promises, nuzzling her neck. She squeezes him tighter and he, her. “Hey, I’m fine.” He rocks her slightly in his arms and lets his lips brush lightly against her skin. “C’mon,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”

                “Sure,” Carol says, untangling from him. Neither is sure who laces fingers with who, but they hold one another’s hands as they help each other stand. Carol grabs her bag, swinging it over her shoulder, and follows Shane back to the car.

                They’re quiet on the drive back, each of them staring at the long stretch of road ahead of them.

                “I never got to thank you,” Carol says eventually.

                “Thank me?” Shane asks, clearly confused.

                “What you did, back in Atlanta. With Ed.”

                “Carol, you don’t have to—“

                “No, I do. You looked out for me. For _us_.”

                Shane is quiet, sparing a glance at the woman beside him. He reaches out to rest one big hand over hers. She glances down, watching his fingers curl around her slender hand.

                “I’d say we’re even.”


End file.
